His Type
by LionessInTheSmoke
Summary: Harry Hart was enjoying congress out of wedlock with his black, Jewish boyfriend, who works at the military abortion clinic ... Until he got dumped. Again. What is he doing wrong? Warning and rating for dubious (drunken) consent rebound blink and you'll miss it Malahad sex.


WARNING - Dubious (resolved) drunken consent, and mentions of past (necessarily unresolved) such.

AN - That means there is (blink and you'll miss it) Malahad sex, because I ship it. And swearing, because Merlin can't help it. Harry is more the religious type ;-), so idk blasphemy as well?

I reached my (shamefully low) Camp NaNoWriMo target and can now go back into hibernation until July.

* * *

Harry Hart has a type. In the twenty-odd years Merlin has known him, never once has he dated anyone who was not a black, Jewish doctor. Nothing changed but the names and the specialisms. The latest one, David the Reproductive Health Specialist, had lasted fairly well. A whole year and a half, despite (or perhaps due to? If Merlin is being nasty) Harry's head injury.

Merlin is willing to bet stupid money he has left now though, because Harry is getting pissed. Which happens semi-regularly it has to be said. On missions and at his well-stocked bar at home. However, he is getting utterly shit-faced, in public, in a grotty pub. That only happens on _special_ occasions. Like when Harry gets dumped. Poor bastard.

"Harry." Merlin sighs, and it sounds disappointed and sympathetic at the same time.

"He left me, Rupert." Harry says, staring fixedly at his empty Guinness glass and throwing back his whiskey chaser.

"I thought that might be the case." Merlin hauls himself tiredly onto the barstool next to his friend. It has been a long day, it looks like it is about to become a long night too.

"He wrote me a nearly illegible note in his finest chicken scratch and posted his bloody keys. A week ago. He left me a week ago and I have only just found out. I bought him some very nice cigars and a hat back from the mission as well."

"Harry ..."

"I hate being dumped Rupert. What am I doing wrong?" Harry turns his kicked puppy eyes on Merlin and waits for him to impart his wisdom.

Merlin signals to the barman. Guinness is not a quick pint to pour, it needs time or it ends up all head. There are rules about how much head a pint is allowed to have. So their drinks take a minute or two to be set before them and Merlin lets that time pass in silence. The truth is simple. Harry is doing nothing wrong. Harry is the perfect boyfriend. He is warm and affectionate, an excellent cook and a generous lover, interested and entertaining. He makes appropriately romantic gestures and remembers the names, birthdays and feuds of all his partners' families.

_When he is there_. And that is of course the problem.

"Give me your phone Harry." Merlin commands, holding a hand out. Ever since mobiles really took off as a communication method, Harry has been stubborn about the post break-up purge. Merlin does not need him drunk-dialing any of his exes from a mission.

"He might change his mind." Harry sticks out his bottom lip stubbornly. It looks terrible, but at least it isn't the full-on blubbing session that happened over Daniel, the current record-holder at two years and two months. That had been a bad one, complete with shouting and the smashing of several of Harry's antique tea sets. Harry had been _devastated_. More about the tea sets than the break-up though Merlin thinks. Generally, he gets over break-ups quite quickly.

"He mailed you the keys! You haven't heard from him. He hasn't answered whatever your pathetic drunken self has already sent. He is not going to change his mind. Give me your phone, or I will just do it remotely."

Harry hands over his phone and Merlin quickly types the standard final message - sorry for previous messages, no offense meant, best of luck to you and yours for the future etc. Then he deletes all the numbers that he doesn't personally know so well he could dial them in his sleep. Then he sips his Guinness. Merlin does not like Guinness, but, approximately once every year, give or take a couple of months, he drinks it when Harry goes on his bender.

"You know it's the job Harry." He says calmly. This is an oft repeated conversation.

"I don't want to grow old and die alone Rupert."

"Harry, you know what the odds of you growing old at all are."

Harry, with great dignity, sulks and drinks his Guinness. He does know. They both know. It is not the point.

Harry wants someone at his side, he needs an outlet for his love and affection. Merlin wishes he would just save himself the trauma and get himself another dog. Merlin could look after a dog while Harry goes on missions. Which is definitely not an option with the boyfriends. But Harry is also (within the limits set by his job) loyal and faithful, and he has never really gotten over Mr. Pickles. A situation probably not helped by having him stuffed in the downstairs loo. Merlin thinks vaguely that it is probably a good thing that none of Harry's boyfriends have ever actually died while they have been together...

"Have you considered retiring?" Merlin asks. It is a new question. He never would have even considered asking it before Harry got shot in the head. "You could leave and have a real life."

Harry snorts in a manner that is not gentlemanly at all. Apparently, he is still not even _considering_ considering it.

"What would I do with myself? I'd be madder than a hatter inside of a fortnight. Much worse than just being stuck in medical."

This is unfortunately probably true. Harry is good at his job and has been doing it too long to retire quietly. Despite owning a frankly _alarming_ collection of casual cardigans.

"House husband." Says Merlin none-the-less. "Live out your domestic dream."

Harry looks at him scathingly with his remaining eye. Merlin drinks his pint, Harry is getting well ahead as he somehow manages to find the tar in a glass palatable. Merlin's drink of choice is india pale ale, just one more example of how their taste differs, he thinks.

"I thought it would take you longer to find me this time." Harry says. "I was hoping to be less coherent when you got here."

"Should have done the sensible thing and left your damned phone at home then. Or taken the glasses off, and not just disabled the tracker. I recognize this place from when you picked up Eggsy."

Merlin suspects that is one reason they are here. Harry would very much like to thump someone, and he is too poilte to not pick someone who deserves it.

Harry belts back his chaser and Merlin follows suit.

"Good God Harry!" He coughs. "How disgusting are you? Is that actually _Famous fucking Grouse_?!"

"I didn't think to ask." Harry replies. "It might even be bloody Bells."

Merlin shudders, Harry is already signaling to the barman.

"I really should have left you longer. Then I wouldn't have had to drink so much swill before you finally agree to go home."

Harry gives a quiet hum.

"I liked him Rupert. He was funny and he managed to explain modern art in a way that didn't make it all sound like utter pretentious wank. Although I do suspect he made it all up. Which is still quite impressive, when you think about it. I don't think he was even cheated on me."

Merlin looks sourly at the new glasses in front of him. He _really_ doesn't like Guinness.

"I would hope you at least _liked_ all of them, otherwise I really must question your behavior. You know you could try dating someone who is not a doctor? Then there might be slightly more chance of you seeing each other. Less potential for schedule conflicts. What about a lawyer? Or a some kind of entrepreneur? All you have to worry about then is long hours, not shifts."

"I like doctors." Says Harry, and Merlin has heard this argument before.

"Christ's sake Harry, you do not need a medical degree to find someone's prostate. It is possible to learn that."

"You have a medical degree, you would say that. And I know it is possible, I have, but I find doctors are much more reliable about it. They take much less training generally as well, and if they are just going to leave me within a year, why should I waste the effort if I am not going to benefit?"

At the bitter stage already, Merlin thinks to himself. That was quick this time. Merlin sighs again.

"Have you considered what your exes all have in common, apart from the obvious?" Merlin asks.

"Do enlighten me." Harry replies, doodling on the bar in the condensation that has run off his whiskey glass.

"The urge to settle down." Merlin replies. "When you are away so often, you hardly give the impression that you are going to do that and they give up on you making them a priority. They cut their losses."

"They are my priority." Harry is deeply offended by the suggestion that he doesn't do all he can to make his lovers feel cherished.

"No. The work comes first."

"Well, saving the world," Harry waves a hand vaguely, indicating the pub and its patrons, and presumably its foul Guinness and sub-standard whiskey, nothing worth saving here that Merlin can see, or from what he remembers of the place's clientele. "It is important."

"But not great for healthy relationships."

"Why are you still single Rupert?" Harry asks. He asks every time he gets into this state, but Merlin raises an eyebrow. It is much too early for that question.

"What makes you think I am?"

Harry gives him a look that clearly says '_pull the other one_'.

"The one I want doesn't want me." Rupert replies, leaving his Guinness untouched and just throwing back the whiskey.

"Do you know that? Have you tried?" Harry asks. _The hopeless fucking romantic_.

"Not their type Harry."

Harry hums and scrubs his doodle into a puddle.

"Well, I guess we shall be old and alone together." He says and drinks his pint. Harry really does like Guinness, the _disgusting prat_. "I'll be back in a minute." He says and wavers off to the loos.

Merlin does not look at his arse as he goes. _He does not_. He has been looking at Harry Hart's arse for twenty years and he can picture it clearly with his eyes closed. He does not need to look at it as he staggers off. He does anyway, because that is how pathetic he is. He puts his untouched Guinness down in front of Harry's seat, necks the whiskey Harry left sitting and places an order for three double whiskeys. He necks one of them as well. If Harry is already at this stage, however he managed _that_ in the short time he had had, Merlin has some catching up to do.

Merlin has done all this before. Merlin knows how this plays out. He orders a packet of salt and vinegar (for himself) and a packet of cheese and onion crisps (for Harry, the _revolting bastard_) and waits.

* * *

It is just gone 11pm as Merlin maneuvers them both into a taxi, called by the barman as this is not a part of town that taxis hang around in. They are both three sheets to the wind and Harry is attempting to remember the words to something he says is by Celine Dion and goes 'la la something something you're the one who held me up'. He says it is currently appropriate. It sounds terrible, but Harry has never been able to carry a tune for shit, so it may not actually be entirely Ms Dion's fault. He holds Merlin's hand in the taxi because his head is spinning and he needs something that is still to keep him grounded. And because he has always been an affectionate drunk.

Merlin lets him. It is how it always starts. Minus the Celine Dion. He could do without that in the future too. The taxi ride is silent as Harry is trying not to sing in front of the driver, so does not want to open his mouth and Merlin has nothing to say. He pays for the taxi and helps his friend to the door. He opens it with his key and leads them in.

"Since when do you have a key?" Harry asks.

"Since after the first time we did this." Merlin replies.

"That long, hmm." Says Harry, kicking off his shoes. "Thank you for not entrusting it to Royal Mail. Staying for another?" He asks.

"You've had enough." Merlin says, but kicks his shoes off too.

"Hmmm, no. I am still capable of full sentences and do you know what? I don't really remember how we have ever gotten back to mine before. So clearly, I am not yet as plastered as I could be. Very remiss of you."

"I didn't come out to help you get plastered you wanker, I came out to make sure you didn't pick any fights that would be hard to explain the result of and that you got home safe."

"Thank you my dear. Now that I am here, you can do both. You are such an efficient man, Rupert, after all."

Ahhh, the flirting has started. Harry is also a flirtatious drunk.

Harry plonks himself down on the sofa with more grace than he has a right to, his decanter of considerably better quality whiskey and two glasses.

"Come and join me my dear man, don't just stand in the doorway."

Merlin takes a seat in the armchair and Harry frowns.

"I didn't smoke at all, despite having a supply of suddenly superfluous, but none the less excellent, cigars to hand." He says, offended. "I know I don't smell. Come here."

So Merlin moves to the couch and Harry takes his hand again, smiling.

"Much better." He puts his feet on the coffee table. "Rupert, will you grow old with me please? I really would hate to be alone."

"Of course Harry." Rupert says, and feels as if he has been punched in the gut.

"Whoever it is is missing out on a fine man my friend." He says and squeezes Merlin's hand gently. "Possibly the best one I know."

"You like what you like Harry. Can't change what a person is attracted to." Merlin replies with a shrug and sips his whiskey.

Harry is thinking though. Merlin can almost see the gears turning. Harry is not clever the way Merlin is clever, but he is far from stupid.

"You like what you like." He repeats to himself. "You like what you like Harry? I like what I like? Rupert, am I the one you want?"

Merlin curses himself. He doesn't answer and doesn't look at Harry either. Harry tugs on his hand.

"_Am I the one you want Rupert_?" He repeats. Persistent bugger.

"Yes Harry." His voice is flat, it really did not take them long to get to this stage this time, it is not even midnight yet.

"Excellent!" Says Harry brightly. "You are a doctor! Drink up and take me to bed!"

This is the part that Merlin hates. Every bloody time it ends up like this. Harry says exactly what he wants to hear, or falls against him while taking his shoes off and ends up kissing him, or any of approximately twenty other versions they have lived through. Merlin hates himself because he knows he should say no.

_He can't say no to Harry_. Unless he is on a mission, it is physically impossible for him.

Even though he knows Harry is just a horny drunk and not really interested in him. Even though he knows his friend is rebounding and emotional. He cannot say no. So he downs his whiskey and lets Harry take him upstairs. Again.

Harry is unsteady, but he is walking backwards and undressing Merlin at the same time. He is also alternating between grinning massively and kissing Merlin ferociously. He has been a lot drunker in this situation on previous occasions. Harry pushes his door open and pulls Merlin in after him. Merlin closes the door and throws on the lightswitch. Harry is already throwing his own clothes off haphazardly.

"Rupert, I've never asked, but you know what I like, so I am assuming, as you've agreed, our desires are compatible?" Harry says, his trousers are around his ankles and his hair is messy.

"I can find your prostate Harry." Merlin says, standing at the door in his socks and boxers. He has before.

Harry grins at him.

"Stop standing in bloody doorways man." He says, removing his last items of clothing and swaying to the bed. "Come here." He orders with the best bedroom eyes Merlin has yet seen on the man.

Merlin removes his final items and joins him. Harry's hands and mouth are on him instantly.

Merlin hasn't had this for over a year and a half and he would like to take it slower, but he knows that is not going to happen. Harry is always in a hurry when he is drunk. Regardless of how happily he investigates Merlin's body, it is seems more like a systems check than foreplay. Everything in the right place and responding as expected? _Check_.

Merlin sighs and detaches himself from Harry long enough to retrieve the lube and a condom from their tin in the second draw on the right-hand side of the bed. He slicks up his fingers and catches Harry looking at him strangely, before he gives Merlin a smile.

"I think we've wasted enough time too." Harry says, then flops onto his back and pulls his knees up to his chest.

Merlin knows exactly what he wants, so he works him quickly open and goes to town on the gland while he strokes and kisses the rest of Harry's beautiful, scarred, firm body and listens to his quickening breath and panting moans. He works Harry to the brink of orgasm twice before Harry is begging him.

"Oh God! Please Rupert, please!"

Merlin slips on the condom, covers everything in more lube, slides a pillow under Harry's hips and pushes his cock in. Harry pulls him down to kiss sloppily. Neither of them last long.

"That was spectacular!" Says Harry, lying flushed beside him.

Rupert sits up to get rid of the condom in the bin. Harry hits him on the back of the head with the gun he keeps between the mattress and the headboard.

* * *

When Merlin wakes up, his head hurts. Really hurts, not hangover hurts. He is tied to a bed. He recognizes Harry's bed. Oh dear God.

"Terribly sorry about that Rupert." Harry's voice comes from the door to the ensuite. Merlin doesn't turn his head to look, he knows that would be painful. "I think we have some things we need to talk about." Harry, in his red dressing gown, sits on the edge of the bed. "Like how you know my lightswitch is on the wrong side of the door. And how you know where I keep the condoms. And where the bin is. Not to mention, how you just gave me one of the best shags of my life with zero input from me. There is absolutely nothing I would change, if I was aiming for a relatively quick, casual experience, I mean. Have we done this before?"

Tied up by one of their best ever field agents, naked and attached to bedposts of solid mahogany, Merlin feels he has very few options. He knows the rope, the knots and the posts will hold out against anything he can do.

"Yes." He says, there is no point denying it. He has been unforgivably sloppy to not notice all the clues he has given Harry.

"Why don't I remember that?" Harry asks, although they both know he already suspects the answer.

"I shot you with a dart after."

"Rupert my dear, you really need to be a bit more _verbose_ with your answers." Harry is mad, Merlin can see it. "How often has this happened?"

"Every time you've been drunk off your arse after a break-up in the last 15 years." Merlin replies and wants to vomit as he says it. He wants to hide himself in disgust, but he can't move. So he turns his head away from Harry. And it does hurt as much as he feared, and he almost vomits, from the pain this time rather than disgust at himself.

"And you've darted me every time?" Harry asks.

"Yes." Merlin replies.

"Why?" Asks Harry and he sounds genuinely confused.

"Because it was always a mistake. You were drunk off your tits and emotionally vulnerable and I took advantage of that. Every single bloody time."

"Rupert, I invited you into my bedroom, there was no coercion on your part. I removed my clothes. and most of yours actually, lay on my back of my own volition and spread my legs willingly, I would in fact say eagerly. I admit I am having a hard time understanding what part of that you think is problematic."

"You were drunk! You only want me when you are drunk."

"You've never bloody asked me when I was sober!" Harry thunders back.

"I am neither black, nor Jewish!" Merlin snarks.

"You are a bloody _doctor_!" Harry answers and yanks his head back around to face him by the chin. It hurts. A lot. Merlin finally does vomit. "Oh Christ, Rupert! I'm sorry!" Harry says, scrambling to untie him. Merlin coughs and tries not to choke. He sits up, which is a mistake.

The situation is so completely fucked up. His head hurts, he can't think, he has betrayed his bestfriend's trust.

"Just kill me now." He says, head supported by his hands. He means it too, wouldn't lift a finger to defend himself. The ropes are still on his wrists.

"Don't be bloody stupid Rupert. Best shag ever, remember? I do think I should do something about the vomit though. I am sorry about your head."

"I am just sorry." Merlin mutters.

"You are an idiot." Harry says, removing the pillowcase and throwing it into the ensuite. "If this encounter is a mirror of our previous ones, I see no problem."

"I took advantage of my drunk bestfriend!"

"By having _marvelous consensual sex_!"

"You were not in any fit state to give consent!"

"I bloody well was and I bloody well did! Enthusiastic, noisy, begging-for-it consent."

"_You were trying to sing Harry_!" Merlin says.

"I like singing." Harry replies, confusion back in his voice. "Granted, it is not one of my talents, but it's hardly a means of measuring my level of intoxication. I sing in the shower. I sing when I cook. Occasionally, I sing while I am driving. You must have heard me at some point other than after I've been drinking."

Merlin thinks about it. He has heard it over the years, over Harry's feeds. He knows Harry can't sing, ever, and that it is not just alcohol related. He has just never known him to try in front of anyone else when not also drunk.

"My problem is not the sex Rupert, if you had approached me when I was single and sober, I would have been more than happy to agree then too. Surprised, but agreeable. You've been so damned discrete about you preferences over the years, everyone had you down as uninterested. My problem is the darting after. I always thought you got me home, put me to bed, put out the painkillers and water and left. I don't remember anything passed leaving pubs or getting into cabs, and I have thought that was odd on occasion because sometimes, I really wasn't all that drunk. I have a higher tolerance than you from being in the field, although my co-ordination is always the first thing to go and that hasn't exactly been helped any by the impaired depth perception. Perhaps we should be talking about whether I always had your consent, especially if you have always let me start anything that happens between us, you may well have been the more intoxicated, if better co-ordinated, of us."

"You have never done anything I didn't want." Rupert says firmly.

"Well that is good to know." Harry replies. "Do we need to get your head looked at? Or should I just get you the bag of frozen peas? I'll get you some water to rinse your mouth out with and then I am going to the guestroom. I am taking your damned watch with me. Tomorrow, we need to have a real discussion during which we both remember as much as possible."

"Peas are fine." Merlin replies. He understands his input is not required on any of the other points.

* * *

Harry wakes him up at about 8am by coming in with a breakfast tray. Merlin finds he is lying on a damp pillow and a completely defrosted and very flat bag of frozen peas. His head hurts _and_ he has a hangover now as well. He sits up slowly against the headboard and looks at Harry. He does not look too hot either and is moving very carefully as he puts the tray across Merlin's legs and leans himself against the footboard.

"Morning." He says quietly. "If you could fix the tea, I would appreciate it."

So Merlin pours tea and adds milk and sugar as appropriate, while Harry fiddles about with a box of paracetamol. They exchange tea and painkillers and both swallow gratefully. Harry has also brought two plates of dry toast, which they both nibble at carefully.

"I feel _god-awful_." Harry complains and Merlin can only agree. "Lets get this over with as quickly as possible so we can get a couple of hours of proper sleep. I have decided I need to tell you about Doug. Do you know about Doug?"

"No." Merlin says quietly, he is working hard not to move his head or his eyes if he can help it.

"Before your time. Douglas, hated his name, preferred to be known as _Duwhogie_, or something like that, but more Scottish, that I could never pronounce properly at all. I called him Doug. We were at Eton and then Oxford together, oil family from Aberdeen. He was on the rugby team and as a result was charismatic rather than handsome, but by God, his muscles had muscles. You could have covered him in plaster and claimed he was a Greek statue. Obviously, he studied medicine. We were both quite career-orientated, so he was not fazed by me being away training or deployed, and I didn't care that he was still studying very hard to become a orthopedic surgeon. The problem was, I got the tap to try out just as he got his first real job. So he didn't see me for months, just when he had the opportunity to notice he wasn't seeing me. Then of course his superiors wanted to meet his 'wife' and his parents thought he finally had time to have children etc ... He was never out, always referred to me as _Harriet_ and told everyone I was horribly shy. Anyway, I became Galahad and couldn't tell him about it, was always away and the seeds had already been planted, so... He married the daughter of the 13th Duke of Wybourn and, is I believe, highly respected in his field."

"He left you." Merlin says quietly.

"He did. First in a long line. Luckily before we'd gotten round to furnishing this place. Unfortunately, we'd been together more than 10 years and it did rather break my heart." Harry is quiet for a minute. "That was a year or so before you arrived. I was a bit too depressed still to be interested in your trials until fairly late on I am afraid. I'd been keeping myself very busy and you had already made it to the last two. You were a tall, muscled, gorgeous, Scottish, rugby-playing, army doctor. Rupert, I could have come just watching you do push-ups. Which told me I was ready to stop crying over Doug and get back in the saddle. By which time, you had got the job and there was no way I was going to attempt to seduce my quiet new colleague, especially not when he was too much like my ex for comfort and there was the chance I could just be rebounding."

"That was 20 _fucking years ago_ Harry." Says Merlin utterly aghast.

"Yes and at that point, you hadn't said two words to me that were not either work related or some form of social nicety. I decided to do something about my lack of recreational sex and had a long think to myself. I have a thing for doctors, which I can't explain but have always known. I had had a fair amount of varied mission-related sex by that point, so I knew beyond any doubt that I preferred cock, and for preference thick, circumcised cock inserted anally on a regular basis. I never had much time too look for what I wanted, so I had to look in the most likely places. Statistically, black men have bigger penises than white men. Statistically, Jewish men are more likely to be circumcised than an average Brit. Do you know how rare black, Jewish doctors in the right age range within an acceptable distance are? And the percentage that are amenable to sex with another man? With me specifically? My dating pool was not large, but thankfully it is not hard to hack the NHS to speed things up."

"Harry ... _That is just plain weird_."

"No, it is logical. And it stopped me pining over you. Mostly. I have a type Rupert, but I think you have unfortunately been labouring under very incorrect ideas about what _exactly_ my type is."

"Harry ..." Merlin feels broken, and in serious danger of regurgitating his toast. Or crying. He doesn't know which would be worse. Or be more unpleasant in his current state.

"Please tell me our repeated one-night-stands have not been your only dalliances since you left the field?" Harry asks.

Merlin can't, so he doesn't.

"Oh God Rupert! You have been faithful for 15 years to someone you thought used you as a drunken rebound? You glorious idiot. Budge up. I want to sleep off the rest of my hangover and I intend to do it with you beside me, as I intend to do everything else from now on."

So Merlin puts the breakfast tray, and the defrosted peas, on the floor to deal with later and Harry turns over the damp pillow. Merlin is carefully maneuvered until he is suitably positioned and Harry cuddles up against him.

"Harry?" Merlin asks, voice uncertain as he looks at the curly head of hair lying on his chest.

"My dear?"

"Can we get a dog?" Merlin is extremely self-aware. He knows if he is _finally allowed this, allowed Harry_, then he will miss him horribly when he is away. Even if he has several advantages that the exes didn't.

"Anything you want Darling. Although I suspect we are going to argue quite ferociously about the breed."

Merlin gives a quiet snort. He already knows it will be a terrier. Because he can't say no to Harry. Fortunately, he also knows Harry can't say no to his boyfriends either, so _maybe_ he will be able to hold out for an Airedale.

* * *

AN2 - Damned lies and statistics. Got to watch those. Especially where sex is concerned.

In Britain, my brief and superficial research suggests the following - Black 3%, Gay 1.5%, Jewish 0.5%, Doctors 0.2%. So, Harry's chances of finding multiple people who match his criteria? Not good (and even worse when age and location are also taken into account), even from a purely statistical point of view, but better in London than anywhere else in Britain.

Totally true about the head on beer though, and Guinness (as former barstaff, it is foul and it takes forever to pour).

Mark Strong can be seen doing push-ups at the start of "Enemies - Welcome to the Punch". I am not sure what to make of the rest of the film really, but that scene OMFG! As the Germans say "auch ein schöner Rücken kann entzücken".


End file.
